It's been awhile.
Enjoy.
Whitaker awoke to the constant, quiet beeping of a heart-rate monitor.
He shot straight up, wincing at the loud crack of his back as he did so. In a panicked rush, he glanced around at the room, desperately searching for the pale sheath of Lightbearer.
I am here, Whitaker. Rest easy. They have not taken it from you.
Harros drew Whitaker's eyes to his bedside. There, lying atop the table next to his hospital bed, was Lightbearer. The liquid metal glinted in the soft moonlight that weaved through the blinds in his room.
Surprised?
Yes.
I hid the weapon from them. I figured you would want Lightbearer to be removed from you on your own terms.
I appreciate the sentiment.
Whitaker eased back into his bed.
What happened?
I ignited the sky. And your ships of floating steel came to find you.
Ignited the sky?
I used Lightbearer. What little power of it was left, that is. Harros was silent for a moment. It is dormant now. It was for the best to save you rather than keep the powers of Lightbearer active.
So it's weaker now?
Yes. It will remain as potent as a weapon as you found it, but it will not have the same scope of strength. At this moment, it is no more than an extravagant version of your other weapon, Lightning.
I see. Whitaker hummed. He still had to process what he had been told by Corinth and Harros. Their warnings. A tremble coursed through his spine.
Whitaker knew he was capable, strong, and talented. His abilities were excellent for his age. But he also knew that there were some things that were just beyond him. The creatures of Darkness. Shades. Grimm.
Whitaker drew his knees to his chest.
Just the thought of seeing a Shade of himself chilled his heart. And with Lightbearer no longer as powerful as it used to be, Whitaker, if only for a moment, considered abandoning the sword and returning to Lightning. However, he needed more information. He needed to get to the bottom of Remnant's mysterious past.
And with a certain individual desperately attempting to keep that past hidden, it only piqued Whitaker's curiosity even more.
After all, no one really knew every secret Remnant held.
[;]
When Whitaker awoke again, he was greeted by the sight of the resident nurse taking note of his vitals. Slowly, ever-so slowly, he sat up.
"Finally awake?" The nurse asked, sparing not even a single glance in his direction. Her brown eyes trained themselves onto the vitals monitor. The Scroll in her hands illuminated her pale skin.
Whitaker nodded. "How long was I out?"
"A little over the week," she explained. She tapped her knuckles on the Scroll's screen. "I'm going to get your doctor. Don't move from your bed please." And then she left the room, leaving Whtiaker alone with Lightbearer. And Harros.
Idly, he wondered just how deeply the connection between him and Harros went. What thoughts could Harros hear? What memories could he experience? If Harros could scour his mind, read every thought of his, then maybe it was better to ditch Lightbearer now.
But he'd play it by ear until then.
Any ideas for how I should explain Lightbearer?
Harros was silent for a time.
Avoid telling people about its origins. But feel free to talk about where you found it. My name is no secret, and neither is my history. Harros explained. The war against the Dark is one kept behind closed doors.
But why? Shouldn't we want more people to fight against it?
Darkness corrupts. It poisons the mind in the most unlikely ways.
So we're losing this war?
Harros' presence wavered. Yes.
And that doesn't concern you at all?
It does. You must understand, Whitaker. The Dark is powerful. In many ways, it is more powerful than the Light.
Then why hasn't the Light lost yet?
Because of the Light's indomitable will. Generation after generation, eon after eon, Darkness has attempted to snuff out the Light— and each time it has failed.
Whitaker nodded. So we're locked in a war of attrition.
Precisely.
Then how do you plan to get out of it?
You.
Whitaker froze. Mentally and physically. Me?
You wield Lightbearer. You are young. You are one of the most skilled Huntsman I've seen. The Dark fears you. I can see it, I can feel it.
I'm the only one, huh?
Not the only one. You will never fight alone.
As if on queue, the doors to Whitaker's room opened. Esmond, Ironwood, Winter, and a tall, dark man wearing a lab coat and a pair of black glasses stepped inside. They stood shoulder to shoulder, all of their eyes trained on Whitaker. Though they wore it differently, concern was strewn across each of their faces.
In an instant, Esmond wrapped his arms around Whitaker. He cocooned the teen within his grasp. Against him, Whitaker could feel his father's sobs. The near-silent whines, the shaking, wracked breathing echoed from behind him.
Whitaker slowly returned the hug. As tightly as he could manage, he held his father.
Esmond pulled away, his hands clutching Whitaker's arms tightly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Esmond sighed. "That you are, Whitaker." He patted Whitaker's arm. Then, he glanced back to Ironwood and Winter.
Whitaker followed his gaze. His cousin looked like she hadn't slept in days— dark bags framed her eyes, and her mouth seemed to be stuck in a permanent frown. And Ironwood… Ironwood looked like a dead-man walking.
"It is good to see you well, Whitaker," Ironwood managed. "I… I apologize. I should have known better than to send you there, than to allow you to continue to mission, especially in the middle of a blizzard. I was a fool. And my foolishness nearly cost you your life."
Whitaker shook his head. "It was ultimately my decision, Ironwood. But if it makes you feel better, your apology is accepted."
"I…" Ironwood chuckled. "I feel like a child being consoled."
Whitaker shrugged, fighting back laughter. "Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. But," Whitaker began. "Genuinely speaking, at the end of the day, it was not your fault. It was mine."
Ironwood sighed.
Whitaker turned to Winter. "Cousin."
Winter surged forward and drew Whitaker into a tight, lung-crushing hug.
"Winter…" He struggled. "Can't… breathe."
The young woman slowly pulled away, clearly fighting tears. "I… I'm so sorry, Whitaker."
Whitaker shook his head. "Why is everyone apologizing to me? It wasn't any of your faults. It was mine. The only person to blame here is me." He smiled slightly at all of them. "And I'm okay with that. I have to learn from my mistakes. I have to get better."
Especially if what Harros said about the Dark is true.
"Back from being reported M.I.A. and considered dead for two days, and he's already thinking about his next step," Ironwood said. "You raised machine of a son, Esmond."
That he did.
Thanks.
It felt strange complimenting a voice in his head, but Whitaker figured that Harros would appreciate the manners.
"I'm not entirely sure where he gets it," Esmond said.
"Certainly not from you, Uncle," Winter joked.
Whitaker laughed. He appreciated the joke, and only even more so considering the pressure in the room.
"I suppose we should discuss that another time?" Ironwood asked, interrupting Whitaker's laughter and pointing at the liquid metal blade of Lightbearer.
Whitaker looked at the blade. He nodded. "I'll discuss it when I'm discharged," Whitaker stated. So I have time to figure out a better cover story.
"Yes," the doctor said, his deep voice cutting through the air. "When my patient is discharged, General Ironwood."
The general nodded and bowed his head slightly. "Apologies, Doctor."
He waved his hand aside. "No apology needed." Extending his other hand towards Whitaker, the teen shook it. "My name is Doctor Parlys. A pleasure to officially meet you. And now that reunions are finished, I will begin a check-up. Everyone else, please leave the room."
"But I'm his father," Esmond tried.
"And I'm his doctor," Parlys said with confidence. "Now, out. You will see him again soon enough."
As the three were ushered out of the room by the nurse, Parlys remained by Whitaker's side. The doctor knew his stuff. After a thorough examination of Whitaker's entire body, Doctor Parlys removed his glasses and folded them into the pocket of his lab coat. He sat beside Whitaker, his legs crossed and hands resting atop his knee.
"Despite your thin Aura, you are incredibly stable and healthy," Parlys reported. "Your nerves and muscles are still chilled, no doubt you feel more than a little numb right now, but after a few days of rest and lots of eating, you should be up and kicking in no time." The doctor inhaled. "Though, there is another matter that I may not be able to help with."
"Is something wrong?"
"Not that I can diagnose, Whitaker," Parlys said. "It is more psychological than physical."
"Trauma," Whitaker answered.
"I'm afraid so." He folded his hands once again. "I will recommend you to one of the best therapists I know of."
"In Vale?"
He nodded. "She will be of a great help to you."
"Her name?"
"Iris Ardent," he stated.
"The head nurse of Beacon?"
"She also happens to have her doctorate in clinical psychology as well."
"Very well," Whitaker said. "Anything else I should be aware of?"
Doctor Parlys stood. He glanced at the nurse. "Nurse Ryan will send you the rest of my diagnosis. But in short, you will be fine, Whitaker. Do you have any questions for me?"
Whitaker shook his head. "None yet, Doctor."
"Then I shall take my leave." With a twirl of his coat, he left the room.
A moment later, the door opened and Winter stepped inside carrying a tray of piping hot, delicious-looking food.
"Hungry?" She asked with a small smile.
The nurse extended Whitaker's table for Winter to set the food down.
"Deathly so," he replied.
And he dug in.
[;]
As Whitaker stepped off of the elevator to Ironwood's office, he was greeted by the secretary once again.
"Good to see you again, Whitaker," she stated.
Whitaker nodded. "You as well."
"James is waiting for you."
"Thank you."
The door to the office opened, and Whitaker walked inside. There, surrounding the central hologram of the room, stood Ironwood, Esmond, and Winter. They all looked much healthier than when Whitaker first saw them about a week ago.
Being stuck on a hospital bed for a week sapped Whitaker of all his energy. Each day felt incredibly slow, and since he was Scroll-less, there was not much he could do to pass the time besides stare at the clock and watch time literally pass. Which was boring. Really, really boring.
"Good to see you up and walking, Whitaker," Ironwood commented.
"Thank you, Ironwood." Whitaker straightened himself.
"I suppose we should begin with your mission summary," Ironwood said, looking pointedly at the sheathed Lightbearer.
"Right." Whitaker cleared his throat. He unsheathed Lightbearer and everyone watched as the liquid metal spilled through the guard, solidifying into an exact replica of Lightning's blade. "This is the weapon of Harros Vesta himself. He called it Lightbearer."
"It is an… impressive blade," Winter said, her icy eyes widening.
Ironwood agreed. "The transformative properties of the blade are unlike anything we've ever seen, even with mecha-shift weapons." He held his hand out. "Do you mind if I test the blade?"
"I…" Whitaker hesitated. "I'm not sure if the blade will respond to you the same way it does to me."
"What do you mean?"
"When I first grabbed it, it intended to kill me. It burned right through my Aura. It… it scorched my brain, at least it felt like it did," Whitaker reminisced. He shivered. "It felt awful."
"Then maybe it is for the best that you do not try anything, General," Winter insisted. "Risking your brain for the sake of fulfilling a mere curiosity does not sound like a fair trade. And I think we can trust Whitaker at his word."
Whitaker smiled at his cousin. Though she hadn't intended it, Winter had just saved him a very long-winded explanation as to why he couldn't let Ironwood, or anyone else for that matter, wield Lightbearer.
Ironwood straightened his tie and brought his arms at his back. "Very well. Moving on, what of Drone 311-B's tracking beacon and footage?"
"I was unable to locate it," Whitaker said.
"And your Scroll?" Ironwood raised a brow.
"Destroyed after I haphazardly entered a Centinel nest."
"A Centinel nest?"
"Like I said, haphazardly." Whitaker folded his hands together before continuing. "While I fought to clear it out, my belongings were destroyed. I had nothing left but my weapons, a few bandages, and a single dose of morphine. At that point, all I could focus on was managing what few resources I had left. After fixing my wounds and applying the morphine, I began to move in the general direction of the tracking beacon's location."
"It was a miracle you managed to be anywhere remotely near it after that blizzard," Winter said. "You're lucky, Whitaker."
"Yes, I suppose so." Or it was Destiny just playing a cruel trick. "Nevertheless, I eventually found the canyon that Drone 311-B had fallen into. And after getting knocked down by a Beowolf, I woke up in the ruins as described by the mission. In my initial attempts to survey it, I got lost."
"Lost?"
Whitaker nodded. "Yes. The ruins were labyrinthian. Every hallway looked the same as the last, and I was convinced that it was some kind of Semblance. I spent a long time wandering those hallways. Maybe somewhere close to ten, fifteen hours? I'm not sure."
"An enchanted hallway." Ironwood stroked his chin. "It sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale."
"Or a horror movie," Winter supplied.
Whitaker chuckled. "I like Winter's answer more. Once I finally managed to escape the labyrinth, I stumbled across the tomb of Harros Vesta." I raised Lightbearer. "And that's where I found this sword. After that I fought out of the labyrinth, escaped it, and… blacked out from exhaustion."
"Blacked out?" Ironwood asked. "The pilot of the Bullhead that found you reported that he spotted a pillar of golden light surrounding you."
"I…" Okay. Time to blatantly lie to the general of the Atlas Military, my own father, and my older cousin. "I vaguely remember someone standing over me as I blacked out. I couldn't say for sure whether it was male or female because of how thick their clothes were, but they were tall."
"Do we know of any societies that still live outside of Atlas and Mantle, James?" Esmond asked.
"There are a few fringe peoples," Ironwood replied. "But as far as we know, none of them have Semblances. Though, our information could stand to be updated."
"Is it necessary?" Whitaker asked. The three adults all turned to him. "Whoever saved me, did just that. Saved me. I think it's not worth the time and resources to pursue that any further."
"A fair assessment, Whitaker, but it's always important to keep one's options open," Ironwood countered. "Regardless, that's where your report concludes, correct?"
I saluted. "Yes, General."
"Now we get to your assessment." Ironwood crossed his arms. "I assume that you remember this mission was a test to see how much you have learned during your year as a Huntsman, correct?"
"Yes, General."
"Good. The method of assessment is simple: the three of us will be voting on whether or not you passed, and the majority vote wins."
Whitaker exhaled slowly. "Very well."
"I believe we all have decided our votes?" Ironwood asked with a glance towards both Winter and Esmond. They nodded. "Those who believe that Whitaker Ash exemplifies what it means to be a Huntsman of Vale and Remnant, that Whitaker Ash successfully completed his mission, and that Whitaker Ash learned valuable lessons during his year as a Huntsman, raise your hand."
Winter immediately raised her hand.
As did Esmond.
And as did Ironwood.
A warm feeling swelled in Whitaker's chest as he stared at the unanimous votes. "I…" He let out a long sigh. "I have no words. Thank you. So much." As he looked at the other three in the room, he spoke up once again. "I thought I'd failed because I couldn't retrieve the beacon."
Ironwood smiled. "It is unfortunate that Drone 311-B's beacon was lost, and, as your commanding officer, your decision to press further into the ruin despite having little to no supplies was foolish, it was equally impressive. You showed skill and prowess that is unprecedented for an individual of your age. Most importantly, you survived."
"But the mission was—"
"As I stated before, Whitaker," Ironwood interjected. "It is unfortunate that the beacon was lost, but if you fully explored the ruins that it landed near and left nothing behind, then the loss of the beacon was essentially useless, correct?"
"I… Yes, sir. That's correct."
"Good." Ironwood crossed his arms. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement on that."
"Well, now that we're finished here…" Esmond clapped his hands together. "I believe that a celebration is in order."
"A celebration," Whitaker repeated. It was still hard to believe.
He'd done it.
His year as a Huntsman-in-training wasn't for nothing.
And by the start of the next school year, he would be standing on the entrance of Beacon Academy, along with every other prospective student.
But he knew that he couldn't rest easy just yet.
There was still work to be done, skills to be honed, and Grimm to kill.
So, my previous note about splitting this up into separate stories has changed. This will all stay on one story, only broken up into parts. I'm still crunching out the outline, so I have no count on the amount of parts yet, but just know that this will be a long story.
I apologize for my lack of updates, but I've been focusing on my other story, Rising Stars, and now that that story's complete, I can put more effort into this one while I outline my novel. However, as of right now, there's not set update schedule for this story.
Thank you all for supporting me thus far. It means a lot. Hopefully, I see you again sooner rather than later.
